A Man Without Honor
by HappyTerrier
Summary: Ned Stark's story was supposed to be one about finding the cause of Jon Arryn's death. But then he discovers that his future son Bran brought back Jaime Lannister from years in the future to prevent the Whitewalker fable coming true. Now his story is about how to trust a man without honor.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Game of Thrones.

Chapter 1. A Moonlit Conversation

When Ned Stark pondered about King Robert Baratheon's visit the past few days, he thought the most startling event would be seeing his old friend again. He was prepared to find his friend changed, maybe sadder from his many years of ruling. Yes, it was a surprise; he never expected Robert to grow so fat and so, for a lack of a proper word, unruly.

But the biggest surprise was the constant stares the Kingslayer gave him and his family. Not the ones he expected, the arrogant, stares of a man who through he was better than him, but ones of pity. As if the Starks were people the man actually worried about despite their rival's family's history of fire and treachery. As if the Lannister family, as Lysa Arryn's letter had informed them, did not kill his dearest mentor, Jon Arryn.

He couldn't help but think about the Kingslayer when he should be enjoying the welcoming feast for his dear friend who he had not seen in many years. While Robert yelled about, questions piled in Ned's head.

Why did the Lannister offer to teach Bran swordfighting? Why did the Kingslayer walk around the keep, as Jorry informed him, looking at ever tower? He apparently even walked around the library. What was the man planning?

"Ned. King Robert just spoke to you." Catelyn whispered in his ear.

He turned to see Robert looking at him, his beard soggy with wine. A serving lady was smiling in his lap.

"I apologize, your grace," Ned said. "Can you repeat your question?"

"I was saying Ned, what do you think of this lass?" He grinned at the serving lady.

"She's a good servant." Though he wanted to, it would be improper to ask his king to leave the girl alone and respect his queen's dignity in front of the crowd.

"That she is." Robert laughed before going into a story about some brothel he once visited and a girl who bathed him before committing the dirty deed.

Ned looked away, wishing he could be somewhere else; somewhere where he did not have to listen to Robert deface himself with his misdeeds in front of the whole of Winterfell.

The Kingslayer walked in his line of sight, nodding at another Kingsguard knight, before grabbing a glass of wine and moving to leave the feast.

Ned could only imagine what treachery the dishonorable man was getting up to in his keep. Already he saw the man trick his son Bran in an unfair fight on the training yard.

Maybe, he was being too curious. He should be concentrating on the feast and entertaining Robert. But Robert was happily drinking along; perfectly entertained by the serving girl in his lap and some lady guests of Winterfell who came to hear his stories.

He told Catelyn that he was going to the privy. She squeezed his hand before he left, telling him that Robert would be back to normal in the morning. Hopefully, she was right. Though Ned doubted it. His old friend seemed to now be on an endless state of drunkenness.

Ned went through the door the Kingslayer had left a few minutes before. He followed the sounds of the Kingslayer's footsteps through the cool outdoors. The night was quiet besides the sounds of footsteps and wind. He followed the Kingslayer outside the walls and to the forest that led to the Godswood tree. The Kingslayer stopped when he reached the Godwood tree.

What was the Kingslayer doing at his family's sacret tree? Maybe, the Kingslayer was a devout follower of the seven. But that didn't sound like a Lannister. They cared far too much for a life of gold and power and murder.

The Kingslayer made a sound that could be considered laughter or could be called a sorrowful sight. It was hard to tell. before sitting next to the tree. "What a day," The Kingslayer whispered before sipping from the goblet of wine he stole from the feast. "Why did you do this to me, Bran? Why?"

Bran. Did he mean his late brother? Did Brandon even know Jaime Lannister?

He gurgled before shaking his head. "I woke up to the shouting of men. Bran. What a surprise it was. So many people shouting with joy. And all for the _glory_ of almost arriving in Winterfell."

Ned flinched at the revulsion in the Kingslayer's words.

"Yes. Isn't it great to come to such a boring wasteland. Full of people who don't even know the dead are coming." The dead. Did the Kingslayer believe the rumors of the wights? He would think that the Southerner would care less for the folklore of the North. "You should be here instead, Bran. Here at your favorite tree." The Kingslayer took a large gulp from his wine. "What's the point? You should be here. Not me." He drank again. "You basically said that for me that there was no afterwards. But it was _you _who got no afterwards. You, the Three-eyed crow or raven or whatever everyone called you." He spit out some wine, whipping his chin. "What is the point? I did your plan. The realm has a chance to be saved, but for what. What can I do? You're the one who was meant to handle this, this." He pointed angerly at the tree. "But no. I'm here instead. The man with shit for honor and no clue what to do." He squirmed and moved to lean against the tree. "Everything's was destroyed. Everything. How can I expect to stop it?"

Ned shouldn't be here. It was not right to listen to a drunken man's confessions. But he was curious. Now more than ever before. It appeared that the Kingslayer knew his brother, Brandon, at least well enough to shout at him at the tree, as the Kingslayer had said, that Brandon loved so much.

While Ned barely talked about it - preferring to move on with the love of his children, nephew and Catelyn beside him - there wasn't a day that went by where he did not miss his older brother. The brave and handsome and special brother of his memories. The confident leader that he could never hope to be. The Warden of the North that could have made Catelyn so much more happier than his sullen self.

"Yes. The realm was saved thanks to you," the Kingslayer was now shouting. "But what am I supposed to do next. Say something, giving me a sign. Something beyond, you will know what to do when he creeps behind you."

A raven cawed suddenly. The sound made Ned flinch, causing his foot to step on a leaf that let out a loud, crunching sound.

The Kingslayer turned, his brow arching intensely in Ned's direction. "Whose there?" Should he announce himself? "Answer me, you fool. Are you one of those lecherous stalkers that lurk in the North."

"I beg your pardon, Kingslayer." Ned walked passed the shadows casted by the moonlight. "I came by to pray before I noticed you hear, speaking to my brother. I did not want to bother you, Ser."

"Too keen on your honorable reputation to admit that you decided to eavesdrop." The Kingslayer smirked.

"I only meant to not disturb…"

"No need. No need to apologize." The Kingslayer drank from his goblet again. "I don't really care. You can listen to my drunken ramblings all you want."

"I did not mean to.."

"You never meant to. But you always did find a way to become involved in whatever plot that's coming."

"And what plot would that be." Could he get the truth about Jon Arryn without even having to sneak around Kings Landing?

"The dead. The dead are coming. In six, maybe, seven years' time, if we're lucky. The dead, White Walkers and wights they are called, with the Night King leading the whole damn army of the dead." The Kingslayer shivered as he talked, fiddling with the bark of the Godswood tree.

It appeared that the Kingslayer was stuck in a state of drunken lunacy. "You heard about the folk tales in the north. They're nothing to fear. Just dark stories to teach our children."

"That's what you and all of us believed at this time. But we were wrong."

"Believe what you want." The Seven knew that the man was old enough to know logic from fiction. Ned knew better than most that there was no way to reason with a drunken fool. "I better leave you to your prayers."

Ned turned to walk away.

"Stop." Ned stopped and waited for the Kingslayer to continue. "Brandon told me that I would know what to do when someone came. I think it was you."

"You knew my brother. Didn't you? What did he tell you before he died." He needed to know.

"I'm not talking about your brother." Ned laughed at the Kingslayer's words. Who else could he be talking about? "I'm talking about your son."

"Are you telling me that you are blaming an ten-year-old boy for all the treachery you done?" That was entirely ludicrous. But what Ned could expect from an oath-breaker.

"I am not blaming him," the Kingslayer said softly. "The Stranger knows that it is me who deserves his blame and fury. But he forgave me or said he did. It does not matter. He did bring me here as punishment. A punishment I deserve more than most."

"I am not your confessor," Ned said. He needed to go before the Kingslayer went on a list of his sins to try to garner his sympathy. He should provide no sympathy for a man without honor. "I took too much of your time for confession. I apologize for dis-."

"I know. But Bran wanted you to help me. The Long Night is coming and maybe we can help each other make sure it does not come to pass."

"There you go talking about my brother. I don't know what type of relationship you both had, but don't expect the same kind from me." This was the price of his curiosity. A moonlit conversation with a drunken madman, hating himself for the pity he felt and the knowledge that his own choices had ensnarled him.

"Of course, it would not be logical to think that I'm talking about your son. For he is young, but I am. I'm talking about your eighteen-year-old son who has the power to turn back time and see the future and other confusing things that are beyond our comprehension. I still do not understand, and I am living through one of his magical gifts."

"I see." Ned said shortly.

"You do not." The Kingslayer sighed. "But that is fine. Maybe he meant someone else."

Ned doubted the Kingslayer believed those words. Though Ned hoped that he would give his ramblings to someone who actually cared about his welfare.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Father

That night Ned Stark dreamed about walking through a swarm of dead men.

In the dream, the night was so dark, he could barely make out the features of hundreds of gruesome corpses who sieged the court of Winterfell. The corpses stormed as they thrashed their teeth and other weapons at the few living men who tried to fight them off. He passed a giant corpse who threw off two men who tried to stop it into a broken pile of sharp, wooden stakes.

As he neared the giant skeleton, he noticed a little, dark-haired girl run toward the smiling, burning beast. She reminded him of his little girl, Arya, because she was just as small and just as fierce. The corpse grabbed her and chocked her until she became as stiff as a rag doll.

Ned closed his eyes, wishing he could be anywhere else. _Arya. Oh, Arya._ _Was this an omen of her death? _

When he opened them again he was at the Godswood tree. A Godswood tree that was barren without the colorful leaves of summer. This time he stared at dead men far worse than the corpses.

Since the night was darker than ever before, he needed to squint to see the dead men who stood around the Godwood tree like glass sculptures, frozen and unmoving. The blue, glistening creatures stared straight ahead, unmoving.

He followed the frozen creatures to one whose lifeless face froze Ned in place. Before he through the giant corpse killing Arya's replica was the most terrifying part of this nightmare. He was wrong.

This bright creature, while a rough contrast to the dark night, made hope a fantasy. He made the promise of prayer a form of overwhelming despair.

This sleek creature walked towards a wheelchaired bound person that was barely a man. The man must be a fool because he did not move; he simply watched as the inhuman creature walked towards him. The fool did not even flinch when the creature took out a sword from behind his back.

The fool remained unmoving as the sword streamlined towards his chest.

Was this fool supposed to represent Ned? Was it supposed to represent his inability to deny King Robert's demand that he serve him as the Hand of the King?

The sword cut through the fool's chest when a young woman, a mere image of his sister, Lyanna, jumped on his back. He looked closer and saw his sister's proud eyes and then he realized, she was Lyanna, like the earlier girl was Arya.

This dream was trying to tell him something about both of them.

The monster turned, while he used one hand to slice the young man's stomach with his sword, his other hand squeezed Lyanna with its sharp claws. A sharp sound of crunching erupted as the creature chocked Lyanna. Lyanna clenched her jaw and a small dagger appeared in her hand out of thin air. With her tiny hand, she pushed the dagger into the monster.

The monster shattered into an uncountable number of pieces.

For a moment, Ned felt hopeful that the nightmare turned into a happy dream like the fables Maester Luwin told his children where the hero- in this case, the fearless Lyanna - defeated the villain.

But then, Lyanna fell as glass splattered into dust around her. She breathed one last word, "Bran," before lying still.

Ned walked towards Lyanna's body and he waited for her stomach to turn a torn bloody mess as it did during Lyanna's actual death. He was ready for the dream to merge into reality.

Nothing changed. She remained still. There was no sign of life. Just a doll, an unmovable doll. _Poor, poor Lyanna._

He heard more glass shattering behind him and then a gasp from behind him.

Ignoring the tears burning his eyes, Ned turned to find the wheelchaired bound fool staring right at him.

The fool said something, quietly. He must have heard wrong.

"What did you say?" He stared at the blood bleeding out of the fool's chest.

"Father."

_What?_ The two of them stared at each other for what felt like ages. _What did that mean?_

"Ned. Ned." Catelyn's voice echoed into the dream.

_Father. What did that mean?_ Suddenly, he understood. Catelyn would know immediately if she was the one dreaming.

He was a father. A father first. That must be what the dream was telling him. Lyanna might be a lost so despicable that left him and King Robert heartbroken, but he must move forward despite her ever-present spotlight in his every moment. Despite the Kingslayer's earlier reminder of Brandon and the Northern legends of the dead.

"Ned," Catelyn called his name again.

The nightmare drifted away like the snow on an especially brisk day.

He opened his eyes to see Catelyn's bright blue eyes looking worried. "Ned. Are you feeling well? You have been shaking for over an hour."

He moved his shaking hand to softly clutch her warm cheek and hugged her closely, briefly appeased by her warmth. "I dreamed of Arya and Lyanna getting killed by the dead."

Catelyn immediately bolted from the bed. "I should check on her. Do you think, Arya's…?"

"No. It was only a dream," He told her when she frantically ran towards the door.

"I'll be back. I still should check."

Now alone with his thoughts, flashes of the dead corpses that represented Arya and Lyanna. In the dream, he did nothing but watch as he did when Lyanna slowly died on her birthing bed. In life, he did nothing but walk passed as the Kingslayer interacted with his children yesterday. When he talked with the Kingslayer, he focused more on learning about his relationship with Brandon than his children's safety.

"Do you think I'm a good father?" He asked when Catelyn returned.

"You have always been a good father. Don't let any dream make you doubt that. You would protect Arya and the others with your dying breath," Catelyn said fiercely.

Ned shook his head. "No. I'm not. Not recently. King Robert's visit has made me focused so much on Lyanna, on Brandon, on all of my family that is long dead."

"Oh, Ned." Catelyn kissed him softly. "You need this time to remember. Don't let any dream tell you otherwise. Our children will always be our biggest priority, but our other family will always be important. Take all the time you need to reminisce with Robert. I can only imagine the memories he is forcing you to think about in the crypts."

"I thought you would think me dishonorable, if I let my desires consume me."

Catelyn stated emphatically, "You're the most honorable man in all of Westeros and the entire East as well."

"Then, why does it feel so wrong. All these years, I…" Ned stopped himself. He could not blurt out his next thought. He could not mention his guilt for keeping Lyanna's son a secret. For all the guidance Catelyn provided, she could not help him recover from his sinful past.

"Ned." Catelyn clutched his hand. "How about you speak to the Gods in the Godswoods? Perhaps, they will provide the direction you so desperately need."

Ned smiled. Catelyn knew him so well.

Perhaps, the Godswoods would provide a safe place for prayer. No. He might find it overrun by a drunken Kingslayer again. He did not want to run into the man again, not when he was this vulnerable.

"I can't," Ned said sadly. "Earlier tonight I ran into the Kingslayer drinking heavily and rambling nonsense in the Godswoods."

"We will not stand for this," Catelyn yelled. "He needs to leave Winterfell. He has broken the most sacred of guest rites. I should have expected this. He is the worst oathbreaker. We should have never let him in our hearth and home."

"We will do nothing." It pained him to say those words.

"He brought sin to our place of worship. He rampaged it with wine and vulgarity, turning it akin to a whorehouse."

"Catelyn, stop. We will do nothing that may possibly anger the King or Queen. You know our place as well as I do."

Catelyn frowned, eyes glaring. She slowly moved through their solar to her desk. She clutched her hands on her mirror lying on her desk and sighed, "It's not right. But you're right. It's our duty to honor the King and Queen's wishes. No matter how vile the Queen's brother is."

She fiddled around with her brush and other trinkets lying on her desk. "Earlier today the Kingslayer had the audacity to tell Bran that he should not climb walls. He acted like he had the right to encroach our duty. I guess that is what bothered me the most. The knowledge that he is acting like he has the right to interact familiarly with our children. How can I protect them from a man who pretends to be so kind?"

The Kingslayer thought he could order Ned's Bran around? The audacity of the man.

"Tomorrow. I will demand that he stay away from them. We can do that at least." While he hated the idea of speaking to the Kingslayer again, he needed to listen to the dream and focus on being a father. His children's needs were bigger than his own.

"Thank you." Catlyn smiled, placing down an embroidery she was looking at before returning to their bed. She leaned beside him and clutched his hands. "Tell me, what did you talk to the Kingslayer about."

He thought back to the conversation and realized he would need to talk about the Kingslayer's mysterious friendship with Brandon. He didn't even know when he and the Kingslayer could have become friends. Was it the night Brandon and his father spent in the dungeons before their deaths? Did the Kingslayer spend that night laughing falsely at his brother and father and pretending to have a plan to save them?

Catelyn deserved to know. She had once cared deeply about Brandon when they were betrothed. "In the Godswood, he talked to my brother Brandon as if he knew him. As if they were friends."

Catelyn's eyes glowed a dark fury. "He watched him die. Watched as the device strangled him whole as he tried to save your father from being burned alive. He let him die. If what you think is true, he let his friend die. Bright, confident Brandon. He was always so kind to me and everyone he met. Even when my friend, Petyr, asked to duel him for my hand in marriage. I wish he never spent a moment with that arrogant, distasteful, disgraceful lion."

He would not cry. This was just another retelling of his father's and Brandon's death. Nothing to cry about. Nothing to fear.

Somehow the Kingslayer bonded with his brother, as horrible as that sounded, because Brandon became enamored with other people too easily.

"Apparently they did. He talked about some plan they made and Brandon's love for the Godswood tree. He talked about how Bran is Brandon somehow, like that is even possible. He rambled about the Long Night myth of the dead destroying the world. So much nonsense that doesn't matter. All I can think about is how he knew my brother better than me. Brandon never once shared with me any fears of the dead coming alive."

"Ned. Brandon was your brother. The Kingslayer could not have a relationship more sacred than that."

Ned said sadly, "I was never that close with my brothers as I should have been."

"Then, its good that Benjen's here for a few nights. You should see what he thinks about the Kingslayer knowing Brandon. And hear about his travels." Catelyn smiled. "I also have a need to write to Lysa and Edmure. Maybe, we both need to remember to interact more with our siblings."

Ned agreed. Maybe, Benjen will have some answers.

"As well," Catelyn continued. "I will reference in my letter to Lysa her message about Jon Arryn. Maybe, she has some information to connect the Kingslayer to the death. It's appearing more and more likely that the Lannisters are involved. We need to know as much as we can before you head South."

"I hope that will be enough," Ned replied. He hoped that his dream was not foretelling the end of Winterfell.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The End and the Afterwards

Jaime Lannister recognized the glares from Stark's guardmen. They were the same he encountered in his previous life all those years ago. Last time, he hated them for their self-righteous fury. This time he accepted their anger, knowing that he deserved their scorn. In his previous life, he had almost killed Young Bran on this very day. An action that would have, if nothing had changed, continued onto a broken path that led to their sworn family's destruction and his own.

So he ignored them, not even bothering with a characteristic smirk. He preferred to watch his youngest son and an unburdened Brandon Stark. Tommen looked happy as he clashed his wooden sword against Young Bran's. It was nice to see his gentle boy smile, his small crooked teeth peeking out.

The boys had become quick friends this time around. It was strange how a simple hello would change the course of history. Jaime had wanted to greet Bran as he once was and to try to give Tommen a freer visit. This time Tommen would not stay under his mother's smoldering grasp. He will have a chance to be a child. A child unrestricted by family feuds.

So far, his plan had worked. Tommen and Young Bran had done everything together the past few days. They ate like twins, ran amok like squirrels who chased after rats, and talked like conspirators planning an adventure through Essos.

He could have easily left them alone today, but he decided to not tempt fate.

Earlier, before breakfast, Cersei had sneaked into his room, as she had done the first time around. He had felt a familiar urge to fuck her and kiss her neck covered by her long, golden hair. He had felt so relieved to have her again, sane and whole, unhaunted by their children's deaths.

Yet, he dismissed Cersei's offer. He was still haunted by the Queen who burned the Sept of Baelor with wildfire and ruined the legacy of the one good deed he ever committed. The Queen that he felt for one night had returned to her previous, sane self. The Queen who refused to help with the fight against the Long Night.

In answer to his refusal, she had been angry, but unsurprised. She had just pouted and insulted his cock. She had, thankfully, recognized that it was too dangerous with Robert so close. A sure sign that there was still a chance to prevent her other self's madness.

When he had told her that he wanted to spend some time teaching Tommen about sword fighting, she had warned him about being too close.

While the family dined together, she had tried to convince Joffrey to join in, but the foolish monster had wanted to join in the hunt. Joffrey likely hoped to impress his false father. Good riddance, Jaime had little desire to interact with the future King.

During his demonstration, Tommen and Bran had heeded his every word and watched his every movement like crows. It brought back memories of being three and ten namedays, where he would watch Lord Sumner Crakehall's moves carefully and would mimic the Lord's smooth slashes of the sword and the Lord's firm stance. His fellow squire Merrett Frey had once talked over one of such demonstrations, leading to Lord Sumner making a surprise attack on the fool. Frey, despite being strong enough to lift a carriage, was no match for Lord Sumner and quickly tripped over his own feet. Lord Sumner appeared so invincible that day. For so long, Jaime thought he was as good as his teacher. Tommen and Bran certainly thought so with their looks of awe and excitement.

If only they could see Jaime as he grunted and failed to stuck Widow's Wail into multiple members of the undead. If only they saw him falling to the ground, wiggling about, as he tried to dodge the wights' endless attacks. If only they saw him struggle to raise his sword with his left hand and his golden hand falling to the ground. They would be rightfully unimpressed then. They would then recognize how weak he truly was.

Why did it have to be him? What hope did he have to improve the future?

Older Bran had foretold him here, but so far nothing else had occurred like the greenseer had warned. He had promised so much assistance in this endeavor and failed to deliver. No Stark had creeped up behind him. No King had listened to his thoughts about the danger of the undead. No Lady had offered him a deal.

"Kingslayer." The voice spooked him. A Stark had just creeped up behind him.

Of course, just when he experienced doubt, the first of Older Bran's promises had come true.

"Stark." He nodded at the man as he went to stand next to him. It took a second for Jaime to recognize the man. Of course, this man could lead the fight against the White Walkers and wights.

His new companion smiled fondly at Bran. The little boy lost concentration and waved at the dark-haired man. Leaving Tommen open to slam his wooden sword against the back of Young Bran's neck.

Jaime cheered as one of Stark's men cursed that his son was a cheat. He instinctively brought his left hand to his sword, before stopping himself. Insults were just insults. Foolish, blank words.

"Get in positions for the next round," Jaime ordered and the two boys immediately got in line.

They waited patiently for his signal. Once he raised his left hand, they started again, laughing heartily.

"It's nice of you to teach Bran to fight. He has wanted to be a knight since his fifth name day." Benjen Stark gave him a false grin.

"What do you want?" He had no need for pleasantries. Even if this man, as Older Bran had said, was going to be his ally.

"To thank you for treating Bran well. I heard you were friends with his namesake."

Ned Stark had mentioned that strange rumor a few days before. He gave the same answer to the night's watchman, "You heard wrong. I simply like Young Bran. He's a good friend to my nephew."

"They seem to be as good as brothers already. I'm sure you see Brandon in Bran. Both are bold and playful."

"Oh." Jaime sighed. The man was still staring at him. Most likely he needed Jaime to discuss the rumor in further detail. "Unlike the rumor you heard, I never knew your brother. The only times I saw him was when he foolishly provoked the Mad King and later strangled himself to death."

He still remembered trying to hide a laugh in that quiet, mournful throne room. Brandon Stark had reminded him that day of a chicken squealing before being slaughtered. The other men had frowned at his rude laughter. Except for Aerys, who had joined in, and had heckled loudly.

"Then, what were you doing speaking to him at the Godwoods the other night?" That was new. Ned Stark had accepted his answer and had chosen to instead demand that Jaime stay away from his children. A demand he was happy to ablige to, except for Young Bran.

"I don't know what you refer to." That was true. As far as he could recall, he had stayed far away from that tree that had changed everything.

"Stop lying, Lannister." Benjen growled. "Ned told me about what he saw and about the talk you both had that night of the welcoming feast."

"I'm sure it was a delightful conversation. Where we exchanged gifts and fought over the last lemon cake." Maybe something did occur that first night when he drank worse than Cersei and Tyrion combined. That was possible. He did have a terrible memory after drinking.

He remembered a facing hallucinations of the past that first, terrible night.

He remembered entering the Great Hall and finding Robert and Cersei glaring at each other as they ate at the head table. For a second, he saw Lady Sansa Stark and the knee-bender Jon Snow in their place, with the Dragon Queen holding court.

He remembered glancing at the table where the Stark children sat with his children. For a second, he thought Unsullied had taken their place.

He remembered feeling hopeful when he saw Myrcella talking cheerfully with little Sansa Stark. Myrcella had snorted when the redhead shriek after Arya Stark flung some food in her hair. For a second, he saw the huge Tarly boy reading some dusty tomb and Tyrion whistling sorrowfully in their place.

He remembered grabbing a goblet of ale and rushing out of the room to the empty corridor. For a second, he saw Ser Brienne of Tarth block his path and glare at him with her beautiful, sapphire eyes.

He remembered immediately gobbling the ale down his throat. Briefly, before his memories faded into a drunken hue, he heard her say something comforting.

He remembered nothing more before he had woken up the next morning in the woods with ale dripping on his chin, dirt along his legs and leaves in his hair.

In the present, Benjen schooled his face and said, "I guess you were too drunk to remember. Typical. Nothing better than a Wildling, you Lannisters."

"I never imagined a Stark as one of the insulting sort. That's more reserved for me and my kind."

"I know." Benjen smiled faintly. "Nevertheless, I come here on the behalf of the Lord of Winterfell, Ned Stark."

"His little lapdog. Or are you his direwolf?" Jaime smirked.

Benjen ignored him. "Lord Stark wishes that you refrain from spending time from his children."

"He made that request a few days ago. I told him I would abide to his most unhospitable request. I understand his concern with the disgraceful Kingslayer influencing his darling children."

"Yet, you still interact with Bran."

"He's friends with my nephew. Others would notice and question me if I stopped spending time near him when he's playing with my nephew. I'm sure you want Young Bran to have a friend."

"I think it's more than that."

"Yes, my secret friendship with his dead namesake. Delightful theory."

"Lord Stark wanted me to ask you what you are planning."

"I have many plans. Plans upon plans." One of the plans includes this man standing in front of him. Older Bran's first warning made sense. He wanted Jaime to trust Benjen Stark to handle the Wildling issue while he tackled the Robert and future War of Five Kings debacle.

"Does the plan include what you did to a certain Hand?"

This man was bold. Jaime could admire that. "I had no part in Arryn's illness. Poor Grand Maester Pycelle had to deal with an untreatable affliction."

"What's going on here?" Jaime felt his throat close up when a ghost of his past appeared behind him.

"Nothing to worry about Cassel." Benjen smiled at the guardsman. "We are simply discussing the remarkable improvement in Bran's aim."

Jory Cassel smiled, his blue-grey armor glinted brightly from the sun. The smile disappeared when Cassel turned to Jaime. "He's remarkable. Is he not, Ser Jaime?"

Cassel was surprisingly respectful. Jaime clenched the handle on sword. _He did not feel guilty._ _It was war. He killed Cassel for Tyrion. He was not guilty. _

In turn, Cassel place a hand on his own sword's handle.

Jaime tried to steady his breathing. He was here to make peace with the Starks. There was no point to a fight. "Young Bran is quite good, for a novice. But I have to say Tommen is much better. This is his first time practicing and he already unhanded Bran."

Cassel grasped his sword harder. Jaime loosened the grip on his. This was hilarious. Cassel really thought he stood a chance if this led to a fight. "Bran is far better than your nephew can…"

"I say they are evenly matched," Benjen interrupted.

Cassel chuckled. "Always the equalizer, Benjen."

"Or he's just the type of person who lacks a solid opinion," Jaime blurted. He despised people who tried to cool fighting with baseless words.

Cassel scowled at Jaime. His hand instinctively started to pull out his sword.

Some beast growled. A direwolf ran in between Jaime and Cassel. Jaime prepared his sword for the beast's advance. He still had nightmares of Robb Stark's beast breaking through his cage and chomping at his face.

Instead of lunging at Jaime, like he expected, the beast growled at Cassel. Jaime then realized that the beast appeared more silver than grey. Greywind had not come to demolish him as prey. This must be Bran's wolf; somehow he felt Jaime's link to Bran.

Jaime turned from the two men, planning to call Bran to help with his direwolf. He tensed when he realized that Tommen and Bran were no longer there.

_Oh Seven Hells. _

"Shush, I'm not here to hurt you," Cassel was attempting to calm the growling direwolf.

_Not again. _

"Summer, it's all right." Benjen was trying to calm the direwolf now.

_Tommen and Bran are probably out exploring. _

"If you sit, I'll give you a nice treat." One of his companion's said. He couldn't care which.

_Bran said nothing about falling being his fate. _

"Down wolf," Jaime snapped. He didn't have time for this. He need to check on Bran.

_He would not need to choose. _

The direwolf immediately dashed to Jaime's side and sat against his leg. Jaime's leg shook from the close contact. Undeterred by Jaime's fear, the direwolf simply smiled up at him, his tongue hanging out.

The direwolf was not supposed to like him. Jaime had hurt his owner without one ounce of guilt.

Benjen and Cassel were also surprised, if there open mouths were anything to go by.

He needed to remain calm. The direwolf could act irrationally for all he cared. He need to make sure Bran remained unharmed.

"Do either of you know where Bran went?" Jaime asked them. "They are no longer there." He pointed at the training yard.

Benjen shrugged. "They must have gone exploring."

Cassel cursed. "Bran might be showing your nephew how to climb towers."

"Dammit." Jaime clenched his fists. He pushed the direwolf away and ran off towards the empty towers.

Fate could be changed. He just needed to find them before they started climbing. He could hear Benjen and Cassel running behind him.

When he reached the abandoned tower where he and Cersei made love so many years ago, he starred at the empty courtyard.

Where were they? Where else could he fall?

"What are we doing here?" Benjen asked behind him.

"I thought. I thought they were here. But there not. Where else could they fall?" Jaime stared at Benjen and Cassel. This was hopeless.

A cool silence brewed between them. Bran's direwolf dashed back next to him, alert.

"Uncle Benjen." They turned to find Arya Stark walking over to them. The future assassin appeared so small and harmless. "You need to come. Now." She whispered something in her uncle's ear.

The direwolf licked Jaime's hand. He immediately slapped it away, brushing the slobber against his armor.

"What's wrong, Arya?" Benjen asked, squeezing her tiny hand.

Impatient, the direwolf raced forward, dashing around the tower.

"No time. He's injured." Arya tremored, a sharp contrast to her future, stoic self.

_Older Bran was wrong. He had no chance to change the future. _

"Where?" Arya led them to the other side of the tower.

What was he going to do? Once they found Bran, they would surely run up the stairs in the tower and find Cersei and whoever she had fucked. This couldn't happen.

_Mrycella. Tommen. Cersei. He needed them safe. _

Jaime turned the corner and gasped. A tall blond man lay crooked on the ground. Jaime noticed the man's similarities to himself; the trimmed beard, and the high-cheekbones. He ignored the tinge of sorrow he felt about the confirmation of Cersei's infidelity.

Beside the man on the ground, Bran cuddled near Tommen and clutched a steel cap that was adorned with the Stark sigil.

"Jacks." Cassel wiped sweat off his forehead, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. 

Jaime nodded his respects. He then realized that Tommen looked haunted. What did he see?

"Tommen," he said softly, placing a hand on the boy's sweaty back.

Sniffling, Tommen stood up and clutched his legs. He rubbed his son's back. "It's going to be all right."

Tommen shook his head, tears now running down his cheeks. "I tried to save him. But I was too slow."

"It's not your fault." Jaime told him softly.

Jaime ignored a staring Benjen, who suddenly huffed.

"… like that. He fell from the tower," Bran was telling Cassel. Jaime noticed that the boy refused to meet Cassel's eyes. Bran was surely lying about something. Did he see Cersei's tryst?

"I'm sorry," Tommen mumbled, his eyes squinted towards Cassel.

What was he supposed to do? He didn't want to kill Bran, but he didn't want Cersei killed for adultery.

Sure, the boy was lying for the moment, but Ned Stark would surely convince him to tell the truth.

Bran's direwolf glanced at him. The direwolf's cold, blue eyes tore into his soul. If the creature was human, Jaime was sure he would be pleading to him.

_Don't hurt Bran, please. _The direwolf would say. _Please. _

Bran had told him that there would be no afterwards. Then, Arya Stark had died after she killed the Night King.

A few days later, Bran had called him to the Godswood tree. "I was wrong," The greensear had told him, lying his broken body against the Godwood tree. "The end is the beginning of your future and the end of mine."

He had escaped fate, yes, but Jaime did not know if he had the courage to let Cersei suffer in exchange for Bran's life.

Jaime sat next to Tommen, letting the boy fall into his arms. He needed to stay calm. He needed to not act hasty. Bran might have saw someone else with the guardsman .

Oh, he hoped that his worst fears were wrong. Because, if not, he would need to be ready to make a terrible choice.


End file.
